the fight were dressed in their best, according to the custom of both
the Cheyennes and the Sioux. Of our warriors, Sun Bear was nearest to
nakedness. He had on a special buffalo-horn head dress. I saw several
naked Sioux, perhaps a dozen or more. Of course, these had special
medicine painting on the body. Two different Sioux I saw wearing
buffalo head skins and horns, and one of them had a bear’s skin over
his head and body. These three were not dressed in the usual war
clothing. It is likely there were others I did not see. Perhaps some
of the naked ones were No Clothing Indians.
A dead Uncpapa Sioux received something of the same kind of mistaken
attention given to our Lame White Man. The dead Sioux was mixed in
with dead bodies of the soldiers. An Arapaho and a No Clothing Indian
supposed him to be a Crow or a Shoshone belonging to the white men
fighters. They jabbed spears many times into the body. They were much
embarrassed when they learned of their mistake.
I found a metal bottle, as I was walking among the dead men. It was
about half full of some kind of liquid. I opened it and found that
the liquid was not water. Soon afterward I got hold of another bottle
of the same kind that had in it the same kind of liquid. I showed
these to some other Indians. Different ones of them smelled and
sniffed. Finally a Sioux said:
“Whisky.”
Bottles of this kind were found by several other Indians. Some of
them drank the contents. Others tried to drink, but had to spit out
their mouthfuls. Bobtail Horse got sick and vomited soon after he
had taken a big swallow of it. It became the talk that this whisky
explained why the soldiers became crazy and shot each other and
themselves instead of shooting us. One old Indian said, though, that
there was not enough whisky gone from any of the bottles to make
a white man soldier go crazy. We all agreed then that the foolish
actions of the soldiers must have been caused by the prayers of our
medicine men. I believed this was the true explanation. My belief
became changed, though, in later years. I think now it was the
whisky.[37]
I took a folded leather package from a soldier having three stripes
on the left arm of his coat. It had in it lots of flat pieces of
paper having pictures or writing I did not then understand. The paper
was of green color. I tore it all up and gave the leather holder to
a Cheyenne friend. Others got packages of the same kind from other
dead white men. Some of it was kept by the finders. But most of
it was thrown away or was given to boys, for them to look at the
pictures.[38]
I rode away from the battle hill in the middle of the afternoon. Many
warriors had gone back across the hills to the southward, there to
fight again the first soldiers. But I went to the camps across on the
west side of the river. I had on a soldier coat and breeches I had
taken. I took with me the two metal bottles of whisky. At the end of
the arrow shaft I carried the beard scalp.
I waved my scalp as I rode among our people. The first person I met
who took special interest in me was my mother’s mother. She was
living in a little willow dome lodge of her own. “What is that?” she
asked me when I flourished the scalp stick toward her. I told her.
“I give it to you,” I said, and I held it out to her. She screamed
and shrank away. “Take it,” I urged. “It will be good medicine for
you.” Then I went on to tell her about my having killed the Crow
or Shoshone at the first fight up the river, about my getting the
two guns, about my knocking in the head two soldiers in the river,
about what I had done in the next fight on the hill where all of
the soldiers had been killed. We talked about my soldier clothing.
She said I looked good dressed that way. I had thought so too, but
neither the coat nor the breeches fit me well. The arms and legs were
too short for me. Finally she decided she would take the scalp. She
went then into her own little lodge.
I passed one bottle of the whisky among friends. Each took a small
drink of it until all of it was gone. The other bottle I gave to
Little Hawk. He himself drank all of the whisky in it. Pretty soon,
though, he became sick and he vomited up everything in his stomach.
Some special excitement was going on over beyond the Arrows All
Gone camp. A big crowd of Sioux were gathered there. I went to see
what they were doing. They had surrounded some Indians just then
arrived in the camp. “Kill them, every one of them,” some Sioux were
shouting. Others were saying: “Wait. Let us be sure.” Above the
confusion of threats and general noise of the excited throng I heard
an angry thundering:
“No. I had nothing to do with the soldiers. I am all Indian, all
Cheyenne.”
It was the voice of Little Wolf, most respected of the four old men
chiefs of the Cheyennes. He was speaking in our language. He could
not talk Sioux. He never had mingled much with them, so not many of
them knew him.
Yellow Horse, an old Southern Cheyenne man, was with me. He said to
me: “Let us go to Little Wolf. You are his relative, you know the
Sioux language, and you should talk for him.” We crowded our way
through to the old chief. Both of us shook hands with him. The Sioux
began talking to us about him. Some Cheyennes also were accusing him.
One of these was White Bull. He knew Little Wolf, but he said the
chief ought to have been with the Cheyennes long ago, that he ought
not to have waited until after the fighting before joining us, that
he stayed too long on the reservation. I knew that White Bull’s heart
was troubled, though, about his own son, Noisy Walking. Finally,
Yellow Horse called out: “Wait until this young man talks to Little
Wolf. He will find out and tell everybody.”
“Have you been with the soldiers?” I asked the chief.
“No, you foolish boy,” he flared back at me. “Do these people think
I am a crazy man? I have with me seven lodges of our people. There
are families of women and children. They have their tepees, their
packhorses, all of their property. Does anybody suppose that is the
way to join the soldiers and help them? Not any part of me ever was
white man. I am all Indian. I am willing to fight any man who says I
am not.”
He went on to tell all about the experiences of his little band of
Cheyennes. On their way out from the reservation they saw soldiers
camped on the upper Rosebud, just the afternoon before. They kept
hidden back in the hills and watched the soldiers go on toward the
divide leading to the Little Bighorn. His people did not set up
their lodges that night. Instead, they traveled a while and rested a
while, their scouts all the time watching the soldiers. Early in the
morning, some of Little Wolf’s young men out in front found a box of
something the soldiers had lost. Just then, some soldiers came back,
shot at these young men, and they returned to Little Wolf.[39] The
band continued to follow the soldiers, but kept themselves hidden.
From the hilltops they heard the guns and saw some of the fighting.
It appeared that all of the Indians in the camps were running away.
Finally, the shooting mostly died down. The frightened little band
peeped over the hilltops and saw that the camps and the Indians still
were on the valley. Then they cautiously came on to join us.
I repeated all of this story to a Sioux chief. He told the assembled
Sioux warriors and I told the Cheyennes. Some grumbling continued,
many saying that Little Wolf ought to have been with us long ago,
but all of them became satisfied that neither he nor his companions
deserved killing. The crowd scattered, and the newcomers moved on
to join the Cheyenne camp. There were some additional scoldings of
them on account of their having stayed so long at the reservation.
But their women had plenty of sugar and coffee in their packs, and
with gifts of these desirable extra foods they soon quieted all
complaints. Little Wolf at that time was fifty-five years old.
Burial parties of Cheyennes were going to the hill gulches west of
our camps, to put our dead into rock crevices. Each warrior lost was
disposed of by his women relatives and his young men friends. A big
band of people went out to help bury Lame White Man. I accompanied
the relatives of Limber Bones, one of our young men who had been
killed. We took him far back up a long coulee. We found there a
small hillside cliff. Four of us young men helped the women to clear
out a sheltered cove. In there we placed the dead body, wrapped in
blankets and a buffalo robe. We piled a wall of flat stones across
the front of the grave. His mother and another woman sat down on the
ground beside it to mourn for him. The rest of us returned to the
valley.
The Sioux likewise were disposing of their dead. Their customary way
was to set up burial tepees. It appeared that in all of the Sioux
camps these were being set up. They were placed where had been the
dwelling lodges, or near them. In some cases the original dwelling
lodges of the dead ones were left standing, in each case the body
being all dressed for burial and left on a scaffold in the lodge
or on the dirt floor, the dwelling being then abandoned by the
inhabitants. This was a common mode of Sioux burial, and sometimes
the Cheyennes did it in this way.
All of the camps were being moved. This was in accordance with a
regular custom among the Indian tribes. When any death occurred
in a camp, either from battle or from other cause, right at once
the people began to get ready to move camp to some other place.
The Cheyennes selected a camping spot down the river about a mile
northwestward. The Sioux all began moving northwestward and back
from the Little Bighorn toward the base of the bench hills west
from the river. In the new locations, all of the camps except the
Cheyennes were west of the present railroad and highway.
Most of the women and children and older people in the camps had fled
toward the hills to the northward and westward when the first band
of soldiers made the attack upon the Uncpapas at the upper part of
the group of camps. I suppose there were very few people left in the
camps at that end until after those soldiers had been chased away and
across the river. When I rode up there and around the west and south
sides of the Uncpapa and Blackfeet circles it was hard to keep from
running over the Indians who were hurrying afoot toward the bench
lands to the westward.
Our Cheyenne people who were not active warriors started to go toward
the north, down the valley, and some of them crossed the river. But
when the second band of soldiers were seen on the high ridge far out
eastward these Cheyennes who had crossed the river returned to the
camping side. Of course, nobody knew how many soldiers were coming.
Nobody knew what would be the outcome of their attack. They had
surprised us by their sudden appearance. We were not prepared for
battle.
At the first time of the flight from the camps, many women and some
of the men seized small packs of food or other precious possessions
and carried them away. The fleeing ones stopped on the benchlands
west of where had been their camp circles. They stayed there and
watched the fighting. After a little while, since no more of the
soldiers had come to that side of the river, people began hurrying
to the camps, quickly gathering up other things, then hurrying back
to the hilltops. Later, as none of our warriors were returning, it
became evident that we were winning the contest. Our people then
became more confident. The old men who were making medicine prayers
for our success added words of encouragement to the waiting families.
Throngs of women now were busy going back and forth between the
old and the new camp positions. They were carrying water from the
river and wood from the timber. All of the lodges not abandoned were
taken down. Most of them were packed, not set up in the new spots of
location. The poles were wrapped, the buffalo skin coverings were
put into bundles, packs were made up, all put into readiness for
quick movement elsewhere if need be. Only the cooking pots and other
essential articles were left in use. The women went by hundreds to
cut willows for making little skeleton dome shelters, in substitution
for the regular tepee lodges kept packed. It had not rained here
during all of that day, but rain might come at any time. Not all of
the Indians, though, prepared shelters. Many depended only upon robes
for shielding them if shielding should become needful. The lodges
of mourning Cheyennes were torn or cut to pieces or burned, and
their furnishings were cast away. These bereft people, according to
our customs, now had to live during their time of mourning without
any lodge or any property of their own. They dwelt outside or with
hospitable friends. The poles and skins of any travois used to carry
dead bodies were also thrown away. Sometimes the horses used to drag
the travois of a dead person were killed or were turned loose to be
captured by whoever might want them.
After sundown I visited Noisy Walking. He was lying on a ground bed
of buffalo robes under a willow dome shelter. His father White Bull
was with him. His mother sat just outside the entrance. I asked my
friend: “How are you?” He replied: “Good, only I want water.” I did
not know what else to say, but I wanted him to know that I was his
friend and willing to do whatever I could for him. I sat down upon
the ground beside him. After a little while I said: “You were very
brave.” Nothing else was said for several minutes. He was weak. His
hands trembled at every move he made. Finally he said to his father:
“I wish I could have some water--just a little of it.”
“No. Water will kill you.”
White Bull almost choked as he said this to his son. But he was a
good medicine man, and he knew what was best. As I sat there looking
at Noisy Walking I knew he was going to die. My heart was heavy. But
I could not do him any good, so I excused myself and went away.
There was no dancing nor celebrating of any kind in any of the camps
that night. Too many people were in mourning, among all of the Sioux
as well as among the Cheyennes. Too many Cheyenne and Sioux women
had gashed their arms and legs, in token of their grief. The people
generally were praying, not cheering. There was much noise and
confusion, but this was from other causes. Young men were going out
to fight the first soldiers now hiding themselves on the hill across
the river from where had been the first fighting during the morning.
Other young men were coming back to camp after having been over there
shooting at these soldiers. Movements of this kind had been going on
all the time since the final blows fell upon all of the soldiers in
the second and greatest battle. Old men heralds were riding about all
of the camps, singing the braveheart songs and calling out: “Young
men, be brave.” The only fires anywhere among us were little camp
fires for cooking. Or, there may have been at times a larger blaze
coming from some mourning family’s lodge being burned.
I did not go back that afternoon nor that night to help in fighting
the first soldiers. Late in the night, though, I went as a scout.
Five young men of the Cheyennes were appointed to guard our camp
while other people slept. These were Big Nose, Yellow Horse, Little
Shield, Horse Road and Wooden Leg. One or other of us was out
somewhere looking over the country all the time. Two of us went once
over to the place where the soldiers were hidden. We got upon hill
points higher than they were. We could look down among them. We could
have shot among them, but we did not do this. We just saw that they
yet were there.
Five other young men took our duties in the last part of the night. I
was glad to be relieved. I did not go to my family group for rest. I
let loose my horse and dropped myself down upon a thick pad of grassy
sod.
FOOTNOTES:
[28] Little Sun, in the presence of Wooden Leg and other veteran
Cheyennes, told me of this incident.--T. B. M.
[29] This apparently was Bloody Knife, Custer’s favorite Arikara
scout.--T. B. M.
[30] The Indians differ as to the color of the horses ridden by these
soldiers, but military students of the case believe this to have been
Lieutenant Smith’s troop.--T. B. M.
[31] Captain Keogh or Captain Tom Custer, or both troops.--T. B. M.
[32] The story of wholesale suiciding is such a reversal of our
accepted conceptions that some reader may exclaim: “That is a
villifying falsehood!” _But it is the truth._ Most of the Seventh
cavalry enlisted men on that occasion were recent recruits. Only a
few of them ever had been in an Indian battle, or in any kind of
battle. It is evident, though, that they fought well through an hour
and a half or two hours. Then, finding themselves vastly outnumbered,
they “went crazy,” as the Indians tell. They put into panicky
practice the old frontiersman rule, “When fighting Indians keep the
last bullet for yourself.” A great mass of circumstantial evidence
supports this explanation of the military disaster. The author hopes
to attain publication, at some future time, of his own full analysis
of the entire case.--T. B. M.
[33] Evidently this was Captain Tom Custer.--T. B. M.
[34] All old Cheyennes insist the battle ended about noon.--T. B. M.
[35] This unfortunate soldier probably was Lieutenant Cook.--T. B. M.
[36] Various old Cheyennes helped Wooden Leg in making this list.--T.
B. M.
[37] The whisky explanation is regularly advanced by the warrior
veterans nowadays. It appears none of them have any conception of
suicide to avoid capture.--T. B. M.
[38] Paper money. The soldiers received two months’ pay after they
had left Fort Lincoln. There had been no opportunity for them to
spend a cent, except among themselves, since that time.--T. B. M.
[39] Here appears to have been the key incident that misled Custer
into supposing his presence revealed to the camps and that caused
him to attack at once, lest they escape. Big Crow, Black Horse and
Medicine Bull, all of them with the Little Wolf band, told me the
details of this experience.--T. B. M.
X
_The Spoils of Battle._
I slept late that next morning after the great battle. The sun had
been up an hour before I awoke. I went to the willow lodge of my
father and mother. When I had eaten the breakfast given to me by my
mother I got myself ready again to risk death in an effort to kill
other white men who had come to kill us. I combed and braided my
hair. My braids in those days were full and long, reaching down my
breast beyond the waist belt. I painted anew the black circle around
my face and the red and yellow space enclosed within the circle. I
was in doubt about which clothing to wear, but my father said the
soldier clothing looked the best, even though the coat sleeves ended
far above my wrists and the legs of the breeches left long bare spots
between them and the tops of my moccasins. I put on my big white hat
captured at the Rosebud fight. My sister Crooked Nose got my horse
for me. Soon afterward I was on my way up and across the valley
and on through the river to the hill where the first soldiers were
staying.
I had both my rifle and my six shooter. I still was without my
medicine shield and my other medicine protectors that had been lost
on Powder river. Most of the other Cheyennes and Sioux had theirs.
The shields all were of specially shrunken and toughened buffalo skin
covered with buckskin fringed and painted, each with his own choice
of designs, for the medicine influence. I went with other young men
to the higher hills around the soldiers. I stayed at a distance from
them and shot bullets from my new rifle. I did not shoot many times,
as it appeared I was too far away, and I did not want to waste any of
my cartridges. So I went down and hid in a gulch near the river.
Some soldiers came to get water from the river, just as our old
men had said they likely would do. The white men crept down a deep
gulch and then ran across an open space to the water. Each one had a
bucket, and each would dip his bucket for water and run back into the
gulch. I put myself, with others, where we could watch for these men.
I shot at one of them just as he straightened up after having dipped
his bucket into the water. He pitched forward into the edge of the
river. He went wallowing along the stream, trying to swim, but having
a hard time at it. I jumped out from my hiding place and ran toward
him. Two Sioux warriors got ahead of me. One of them waded after
the man and struck him with a rifle barrel. Finally he grabbed the
man, hit him again, and then dragged him dead to the shore, quite a
distance down the river. I kept after them, following down the east
bank. Some other Sioux warriors came. I was the only Cheyenne there.
The Sioux agreed that my bullet had been the first blow upon the
white soldier, so they allowed me to choose whatever I might want of
his belongings.[40]
I searched into the man’s pockets. In one I found a folding knife and
a plug of chewing tobacco that was soaked and spoiled. In another
pocket was a wad of the same kind of green paper taken from the
soldiers the day before. It too was wet through. I threw it aside.
In this same pocket were four white metal pieces of money. I knew
they were of value in trading, but I did not know how much was their
value. In later times I have learned they were four silver dollars.
A young Cheyenne there said: “Give the money to me.” I did not care
for it, so I gave it to him. He thanked me and said: “I shall use
it to buy for myself a gun.” I do not remember now his name, but he
was a son of One Horn. A Sioux picked up the wad of green paper I
had thrown upon the ground. It was almost falling to pieces, but he
began to spread out some of the wet sheets that still held together.
Pretty soon he said:
“This is money. This is what white men use to buy things from the
traders.”
I had seen much other paper like it during the afternoon before. Wolf
Medicine had offered to give me a handful of it. But I did not take
it. I already had thrown away some of it I had found. But even after
I was told it could be used for buying things from the traders, I did
not want it. I was thinking then it would be a long time before I
should see or care to see any white man trader.
I went riding over the ground where we had fought the first soldiers
during the morning of the day before. I saw by the river, on the west
side, a dead black man. He was a big man. All of his clothing was
gone when I saw him, but he had not been scalped nor cut up like the
white men had been. Some Sioux told me he belonged to their people
but was with the soldiers.[41]
As some of us were looking at the body of an Indian who had been with
the soldiers, an old Sioux said:
“This is a Corn[42] Indian, not a Crow nor Shoshone.”
He showed us the differences in appearance, especially the earrings
and the hair dressing. The Crow men wore their hair cut off above
the forehead and roached up. The Shoshones had almost the same way
of placing this foretop. The Corn Indians kept their hair in braids,
parted like that of the Sioux and Cheyennes, but the Corn Indian
parting was not in the middle of the top, as ours was. I examined
again the one I had helped in beating to death. I learned he also was
a Corn Indian. I found yet a third one. We who had killed them were
young men, and there was great excitement at the time, so we had not
observed their tribal connection. We had supposed them to be the same
Crows and Shoshones we had fought on the upper Rosebud creek a few
days before. Now there began to be talk that maybe these soldiers
were not the same ones we had fought there. Or, perhaps they had
added the Corn Indians to their forces since that time. There were
different opinions on the matter.
Some Sioux caught a mule that wandered out from the place where the
soldiers were together on the hilltop. The animal was going down
toward the river when the Indians got it. They tried to lead it
toward their sheltered place behind a knoll, but it would not go.
It appeared to be wanting a drink of water. One Sioux got behind it
and whipped it, while a companion pulled at the leading strap. But
the mule just stood there, would not move. On its back were packs of
cartridges. The Sioux took these and let the mule go.